Ruben Fleischer’s & Michael Diliberti’s 30 Minutes or Less

A comedic rendering of the real-life manipulation and slaying of the pizza-deliver worker Brian Douglas Wells. The characters, motivations and plot devices may seem contrived, overly-complex, but are in fact consistent with the historical event (though the true events were not laughable and totally fucking creepy).

What remains inconsistent is the kidnapping of beautiful actress Dilshad Vadsaria as a means of recovering the $100,000 bank take (Dilshad’s mere presence is unrealistic given she is far too attractive to be Aziz Ansari’s sister or Jesse Eisenberg’s love interest). The abduction occurs in a public restroom stall despite our observation the kidnappers only knew Dilshad’s apartment address (the building address at best, not the actual room). Are we to believe Dilshad Vadsaria favors a dirtier, more communal bathroom to the comforts of her own apartment? That she would go out of her way, walk across the street to a convenience store or a gas station, to make her anus (symbolically and literal soft tissue) more vulnerable, more susceptible to stink, flesh-eating bacteria and airborne illness because that is where she likes to plop the doo-doo? And why would the filmmakers demand Dilshad is a womanly creature who wants to do this? Is she strange? Is she a pervert? Why the desire to save up her defecation for strategic, more urban drops? Is the appeal to her the PUBLIC, the SOCIAL arena that is forced to accept her abuse? Or is it the possibility for INTRUSION that gets her excited? In which case she was victorious on both accounts.

But even if that were the case, why would her abductors not attack her in the privacy of her apartment (complex, lobby, roof)? Why would they wait around, indulge her, until she was in an exposed space with plenty of foot traffic – and then confront her? And how did they know she was a woman who needed to perform doody in this Jeremy Bentham, panopticonish spectacle? There are simply too many unknowns surrounding this scene. I believe the scene may exist as a vehicle to accommodate the off-color but not wholly unfunny reference to the Slumdog Millionaire diarrhea-outhouse scene.

30 Minutes is essentially a vehicle for Danny McBride to get done what he does best – be totally fucking awesome. One aspect of that is cultivating the uneducated, arrogant, rednecked persona best suited for carrying his jokes. The man cannot be stopped. Motherfuckers keep trying to stop him and he continues to slay naysayers. 30 Minutes also has a more skillful ending than other films of its caliber (I mentally categorize it with Horrible Bosses, The Change-up, Due Date, Date Night, Zack and Miri Make a Porno, The Hangover Part II – flicks with so much potential but are ultimately mediocre and stumble from high expectations). It stops before it can ruin itself. On a dime. With paint in the eyes. What does it have most other flicks don’t? The triumphant performance of Michael Pena, a unsung and underrated Mexican genius of his generation . . . $6